


Sway

by popfly



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-20
Updated: 2004-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly





	Sway

When Justin danced, he lost himself in the music. It didn’t matter if it was shit or not, if the constant pumping of the bass promised motion sickness or if the decibel level threatened long-term hearing loss, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back, his hands locked behind the neck of some well-built brunet in a garish orange muscle tee, his hips slanted forward, his mouth slightly open. The lights pulsed, a flash of blue against his chin, red sliding along his cheekbones, his hair cast in shades of purple and green. I leaned back against the bar, a cigarette dangling from my lips, a glass dangling from my fingers, and I watched, and hoped that no one was watching me, because despite my inarguable talent at masking my emotions, I was helpless at that moment to keep the mask in place. Helpless, dammit. Something I swore I would never be. Something I’ve fought so hard against. Something that I feel almost constantly when he’s around. Or, okay, even when he’s not.

 

When he emerged from the crowd he was covered in sweat and glitter. I felt like everything was moving in slow motion as he walked towards me, his mouth curving up into one of those grins that I loved and hated at the same time, loved because they were beautiful, lighting him up and lighting me up and reducing the rest of the world to shadows, and hated for the same reasons. I swigged my drink so that I could hide my feelings in a grimace as the Beam slid hotly down my throat. He stood next to me, not touching me, and I could feel the warmth radiating from his body and smell his shampoo and the musky scent of his skin. My head swam a little and I downed the rest of my drink, clunking the empty glass on the bar behind me, my forearm brushing his damp bicep en route, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I could have sworn I saw a damn spark. Was I drunk already?

 

He grinned up at me, eyes twinkling, the tip of his tongue appearing momentarily between his teeth before retreating, taunting me. I narrowed my eyes and steeled myself. I would not give in to him, not when he was looking so smug, thinking he knew exactly what I was thinking and what I was going to do. I was not going to give in . . . and then I was kissing him, one arm pressing against his back, holding him to me. He had his hands on my waist, groping for the hem of my shirt, and then I felt his fingers on my sides, skimming lightly. I broke away for a moment and sucked in a breath before returning my attention his mouth.

 

He grabbed the back of my neck, increasing the pressure, molding his body to mine. I had a brief thought about how well we fit and then shoved it into the back of my mind as well as I could. And then the kiss was over. I leaned forward involuntarily before I remembered myself and plastered on a smirk. Only he knew better. He was too fucking observant and he knew that when he pulled away I wanted him back so badly it hurt. But he just blinked at me and turned to order a drink. I doubled his order and we stood in silence, watching the crowd before us jumping and swaying.

 

When we were both drunk we moved towards the exit. We pulled on our jackets as we stepped out into the brisk night air. Our breath preceded us in little white clouds that dissipated as they swirled up into the streetlights. My arm was around his shoulders and his hair made a faint swishing noise against the leather of my jacket as we walked. If I turned my head I could press my nose into his hair, but no, I wasn’t going to do that. I didn’t want to give him any more reason to think I was going soft in my old age, as he liked to quip. So instead I let my hand fall to his ass, which I pinched, hard, before stuffing my hands in my pockets. He grinned sideways at me. He always thinks he’s so smart. Of course, he is, but he doesn’t need to know that. Normally I would snark a little, take him down a notch or two, but something about the cold and the Beam and instead I just lit a cigarette. Let him think what he will. I know the truth. And that is . . . that I’m totally and completely in love with him and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

 

I mull this over as we walk, and after I crush the butt of my smoke beneath my boot I put my arm back around him. And when he smiles up at me, I just smile back.


End file.
